


Glimpses into the Darkness

by HereBeDragons



Series: Unshaken by the Darkness [3]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Fantasy, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereBeDragons/pseuds/HereBeDragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This work is for drabbles and short stories and writing prompt fills that are part of the "Unshaken by the Darkness" canon, but don't fit in the timeline of the actual story. I will not post anything here that would be a spoiler for an unpublished/future chapter of "Unshaken," but there may be spoilers for things that have already happened in the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Only one person I ever think about marrying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was written in response to a prompt from the "Imagine your OTP" blog on Tumblr: "Imagine your OTP finding out they like each other for the first time. person A passes person B a note that says "do you like me?" and when person B opens it they blush bright red. when person A gets it back, they get really excited and decide to keep the note forever." Obviously, the circumstances are a bit different, but I still think it fits the prompt reasonably well. It takes place during Chapter 37 of Book One.

_**22 Firstfall, 9:26 Dragon** _

 •o•

" _There's only one person I ever think about marrying anyway, and I haven't seen him in just over a year._ "

Loghain read the words Rhianna had written. Then he read them again. Someone she hadn't seen in just over a year?

Loghain had kept careful track, and it had been exactly one year and twelve days since he sailed away from Denerim on this interminable voyage, searching for Ferelden's missing king.

But surely, she couldn't possibly have been talking about  _him_.

Could she?

_Only one person I ever think about marrying._

Maker's blood. Loghain heard Maric's voice in his head, almost as clearly as if he were in the room: "She  _likes_  you. You should marry her. You and Rhianna have a … connection. She understands you in ways I don't, even after all these years. And you understand her."

Maker's  _blood!_

What if Maric was right? What if there was something to what he had said that day at the waterfall? Certainly, the thought of being able to spend the rest of his life with Rhianna … well, it was more appealing than Loghain wanted to admit. She was lovely, funny, charming, smart. When he was in her company, he felt . . . content. Happy, even.

No. It was ridiculous. He was so much older than her, and she was still a child. Far too young for him to consider her as a partner, as his wife. Even if the letters she sent didn't feel like they'd been written by a child. She was so articulate and insightful, her sense of humor so keen, it was easy to imagine she was older, that in the time he'd been away, she had grown into a woman. Of course, she had never been childish. Even when she was five years old, there had been a maturity about her that set her apart from everyone else. It was this, perhaps, that had drawn him to her in the first place. And if this was true, perhaps there was some chance she truly wanted to be with him. A chance that he could make her happy. Or was this nothing more than his imagination? His own wishful thinking?

_Only one person I ever think about marrying._

Those words weren't his imagination. She had written them. Rhianna.

Perhaps it wasn't such a crazy idea, after all.

He read the words again, and then read her entire letter once more, from beginning to end. This time, when he read that line, he felt warmth grow inside of him. A comfortable, comforting warmth. And for the first time, the possibility of this, of making Rhianna Cousland his wife, seemed reasonable. Appropriate. Real. Something more than just the selfish fantasy of a ridiculous old man.

Aware of the gentle rocking of the ship as she passed swiftly over the ocean more than a thousand miles from home, Loghain closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he folded the letter, carefully, tucking it back into its envelope. Then he placed it inside the pages of his copy of the Chant of Light, along with every other letter she had ever written to him.

 •o•

 


	2. A glimpse of something white

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt from Psyche Sinclair: "Rhianna and the Hawk," this episode takes place during Chapter 37 of Book One, when Rhianna is fourteen years old, during the period when Loghain is away at sea.

_**8 Firstfall, 9:26 Dragon  
** _ _**Near Highever** _

 •o•

In spite of the cold, Rhianna left her cloak tied behind her on the saddle. She'd want it once the sun dipped lower in the sky, but for now she enjoyed the feel of the chill wind through the fabric of her woolen shirt. Her cheeks stung from the cold, but rather than make her uncomfortable, it gave her the most exhilarating feeling. A feeling that made her glad to be alive.

She and Faolan rode through the forest at a leisurely pace, with Dane running ahead, on a path that traced the bottom of the mountain stretching up on their right hand side. There were a few patches of snow on the ground from last week's storm, although a streak of relatively warm weather over the past two days had mostly melted it away.

They had no particular destination. For once, no one in the castle had need of her, and all had been quiet in the village when she walked through earlier in the day, visiting Garrick's shop for pasties for her lunch. So, she'd decided to ride out with just her animal companions, and enjoy what would likely be one of the last days this season before the snows hit in earnest.

Overhead, the sun shone, dappling the ground as its weak, early winter light filtered down through the trees. The air smelt of pine needles and damp earth, and occasional birdsong echoed through the valley: the bubbling trill of a winter wren, or the sharp scold of a magpie. For the most part, though, the forest was quiet; most of the summer residents had migrated to warmer climes, and only those creatures sturdy enough to survive the frigid winter still remained.

She loved being in the woods. It was so peaceful here, and the feeling of being all alone, away from people who wanted things from her, was delightful. Of course, she wasn't really alone; she had Dane and Faolan, and was surrounded by animals who were friendly if she approached them. Unlike people, however, in Rhianna's experience animals only asked for help when they truly needed it. Well, perhaps most people weren't all that bad; she was just grumpy about her recent trip to Starkhaven, and how horrid some of the people there had been.

Dog Lords, indeed. She'd caught more than one person staring at her behind, as though expecting to find a tail back there. Very annoying.

She couldn't wait to hear what Loghain had to say about all that. Well, to be honest, she couldn't wait to hear what Loghain had to say about anything. His letters were so wonderful: details about his trip, all thing things he was seeing at sea and in the places he stopped. Reading what he had written made her happier than just about anything else these days. She'd even sketched a map of Thedas - copied from an original belonging to her father - so she could draw in the route Loghain traveled, and mark all his stops along the way.

Of course, what she loved most was the mere fact that he wrote to her at all. That he seemed to enjoy her letters, and took the time to write back. When she sent the first bird, she wasn't sure he would welcome her correspondence (assuming the bird would even be able to find the ship at all; so far, though, her messengers had been remarkably good at finding him, for which she was very grateful). But then he had written back. Just the sight of his handwriting, such deliberate, graceful strokes of the pen, brought a smile to her face. And even now, she wore the ammonite pendant around her neck. Reaching up, she stroked its smooth surface with her fingers. It was one of the best things anyone had ever given her, and not just because it had come from Loghain.

Although that certainly was part of the reason she cherished it so much.

Up ahead, Dane yelped in surprise, then began barking furiously at a large hawthorn bush. Riding closer, Rhianna saw the cause of his alarm: a badger who had unwittingly ventured out of her sett just as the hound was passing by. The badger growled a husky warning, causing the hound to jump nearly three feet backward, and Rhianna couldn't stop herself from laughing. Dane was still such a puppy, really.

Dane gave Rhianna a wounded stare, as though the laughter had hurt his feelings.

"It's all right boy," she soothed. "I know you're a brave warrior. That silly badger just took you by surprise, didn't she?"

Placated by Rhianna's words, Dane huffed out a breath in agreement, and was soon off poking his nose under the next hedge along the path. She could have reminded him this was how he'd gotten himself into the trouble with the badger, but some lessons needed to be learned for themselves. Even if it took several times of making the same mistake before the lesson stuck.

WIth any luck, none of the hedges would be home to a skunk. That had the potential to end badly, with Dane forced to sleep outside for a few days, and he hated that.

A sound caught her attention, off to the right, and a little way up the hill. Crows cawing. Several of them, and they sounded agitated, rather than merely talking back and forth to one another.

Curious, she clicked her tongue and urged Faolan off the path. They picked their way through the sparsest parts of the underbrush in the direction of the commotion.

As they drew closer, it was obvious her assessment was correct: the crows were upset, circling one particular tree, a very tall hemlock, its tippy-top branch drooping gently to one side. There were at least eight of them, circling and crying and occasionally lunging toward the tree; typical mobbing behavior. Most likely there was a hawk, or an owl, perhaps even a lynx who had caught their attention.

She saw a glimpse of something white near the top of the hemlock. Wings, of a bird somewhat larger than any of the crows. But white? What sort of bird could that be? A snowy owl? A ptarmigan, perhaps? Although they rarely roosted so high up in trees, and it was a bit early in the season for them to have come down from higher elevations.

She reached out with her mind, startling the crows. Easily enough she brushed against the mind of her quarry. Whatever it was, the bird was frightened, and in pain. Rhianna sent comforting thoughts in the bird's direction. "Fly down to me," she urged.

The crows scattered as a large white bird spread her wings, and glided down from the top of the hemlock. She was a hawk, her hooked beak black at the tip, and yellow at the base, her eyes dark, and her underside pristine, sparkling white except for a few darker patches. She stretched out her bright yellow feet in preparation to land, and Rhianna raised her arm, offering the bird a place to perch.

Lifting her wings at the last moment to still her flight, she landed on Rhianna's arm, talons poking through the fabric of her shirt and piercing Rhianna's skin in a few places. Rhianna whimpered, but bit back the cry of pain on her lips. It was her own fault, after all; she should have thought to wrap her cloak around her arm before offering the bird a place to land. Even so, the hawk responded by relaxing her grip on Rhianna's arm, enough to ease the worst of the pain.

The bird was magnificent. Standing a foot-and-a-half tall, she was a goshawk, but unlike any Rhianna had ever seen before; these birds were usually streaked brown and tan, or a warm charcoal grey, but this one was almost entirely snowy white, with just a few speckly brown bars on her back and wings. The pattern on her breast, however, was not plumage after all; those feathers were stained with blood. The same was true in a couple of places on the bird's back and one of her wings.

She was injured; attacked by the crows, no doubt.

The bird panted softly through her opened mouth, and at close range, her eyes were dark red, not black as they had appeared from a distance.

"Oh, you poor darling," Rhianna soothed, reaching out slowly to stroke the bird's back. The hawk tensed, but then soon settled, hunching her shoulders and allowing her eyes to partially close, as she relaxed under Rhianna's touch. "You've been through something awful, haven't you?"

The hawk showed Rhianna images of what had happened. Not long after she had fledged, a storm had hit the forest high in the mountains where she'd been born. Disoriented, she'd flown off course, and then couldn't find her way back to her roost, to her parents and siblings. Hungry and alone, she'd been searching for food, but had caught the attention of a flock of crows, who pestered and followed her. She'd tried to fly away, escape their noisy cries and angry beaks, but they'd chased her, and no matter how close she huddled to the trunk of a tree, as her parents and siblings had done, the crows were still able to find her.

Rhianna realized this was due to the bird's coloration. A forest hawk needed to be able to blend in with the tree branches, but this bird, with her unusual white plumage, had nowhere to hide.

"How would you like to come home with me?" Rhianna offered. "We'll tend to your wounds, and perhaps once the weather improves we can try and find your family."

The bird lowered her head, and shifted position so the feathers lay flat on her back.

_Yes. Please. I don't like it here._

"Then home with me it is. And what shall I call you?"

A shudder went through the bird's body, as she ruffled her feathers, then smoothed them again. Clearly, she had no opinion on the matter.

"Hmnh. What about . . . Gwyn. How do you like the sound of that?" A name meaning "white" seemed appropriate.

Again, the bird inclined her head, then pushed forward, nudging her bill against Rhianna's cheek.

The girl chuckled softly. "I'll take that as a yes. Come on, then, Gwyn. Let's get you home."

 

White Goshawk by [Martin Scuggins](http://www.natureartists.com/martin_scuffins.asp).

 

•o•


	3. The best tea party ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of ridiculous fluff, featuring eight-year-old Rhianna, along with Loghain and Maric. A friend suggested there should be more banter between the three of them, and this story popped into my head. This story takes place between Chapters 12 and 13 of Book One.

**_8 Wintersend, 9:21 Dragon_ **

‹›‹O›‹›

"King Maric, I need your help with something."

Maric pulled the slight, dark-haired girl onto his lap, and gave her his full attention.

"How may I be of service, milady?"

The Couslands had spent the past several months in Denerim, although Maric thought they had intended to return to Highever after First Day. But the holiday had recently passed, and they were still here. Today Rhianna had requested an audience with the king, and Maric had happily granted one.

"Did you know that tomorrow is Teyrn Loghain's birthday?"

Ah. Perhaps that explained the extended stay. It was entirely possible that eight-year-old Rhianna had managed to convince her parents to stay in town a few extra days, so she could help celebrate Loghain's birthday. After her recent illness, Maric doubted they would deny her much of anything she requested, and rightly so.

"Is it?" He allowed his brow to furrow slightly. "Are you sure his birthday is tomorrow? I thought Loghain's birthday was the First of Solace?"

Rhianna giggled. "No, Your Majesty.  _My_  birthday is the First of Solace. Loghain's is the Ninth of Wintersend. Which is tomorrow."

"Oh! Is it? Already. That snuck up quickly." He bent his head closer to hers. "You won't tell Loghain I forgot the date of his birthday, will you?"

"No, I suppose not." She regarded him through narrowed eyes. "So long as you're willing to help me, that is."

"Oh, ho! Now you're making demands to ensure silence? Blackmailing the king?"

"Why not?"

He couldn't think of an answer to that. "All right, how can I help?"

"Well, I'd like to do something for him. Something special. But I'm not sure what he would like best. Could we plan a trip riding out in the woods? Or maybe he would prefer going out on a boat. What do you think he'd like to do on his birthday?"

"Hmnh." Maric pretended to think.

To be honest, Loghain would be pleased with anything Rhianna suggested; he was ridiculously fond of the girl. Not that Maric had any room to talk; he was rather enamored of the little Cousland girl himself. She was delightful, and the three of them had become frequent companions while she'd recovered from being so sick. Loghain had helped nurse her back to health, and Maric had come to visit her during the worst of it, and when she was well enough, the three of them had enjoyed dinners together, and walks through the garden, as she regained her strength. No doubt, she was strong enough now for a ride in the woods, and no doubt Loghain would enjoy that.

But this was far too good an opportunity to pass up.

"What about a tea party?" he suggested.

"A tea party?" Rhianna's nose wrinkled.

"Yes! A tea party. You know, with little cakes and scones and jam and fancy plates with flowers and things on the table. And, of course, tea."

"Yes, I know what tea party is, but are you sure that's what he would like best? A tea party?"

"I've known Loghain for years, Rhianna. Trust me. Loghain loves tea."

"Yes … but that's not exactly the same thing as liking tea parties, is it? I've never heard him talk about tea parties before."

"Of course he doesn't talk about them. You know Loghain. So stoic, never complaining. He never wants to be a bother, so he rarely talks about what he wants, or what would make him happiest." That much, at least, was true. "He would love a tea party. Provided, of course, that you are the hostess. We'll have it here at the palace, but you should be the one to pour."

"All right. I'll be the hostess. Will you invite him, though? So it will be a surprise?"

"Of course. Just arrive at noon, and I'll make sure he's here. He will definitely be surprised."

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

Loghain arrived at the palace feeling mildly curious. Maric's invitation had been almost annoyingly vague, and Loghain had an uncomfortable feeling there was something the king wasn't telling.

He soon discovered what. He entered the small sitting room - Maric's favorite in the palace - to find Rhianna Cousland waiting, along with Maric, whose eyes were lit by something that looked suspiciously like mischief.

Rhianna stood. "Happy birthday, Teyrn Loghain! Welcome to your party!"

Oh. So that's what this was about. A party? But why did Maric still have that ridiculous grin plastered on his face?

Loghin looked at the table. It was painstakingly set for four, with delicate floral patterned dishes, and plates of little baked delicacies and finger sandwiches, and a large porcelain tea pot. Rhianna's large brown plush toy bear - Ser Ruffalo, he thought she'd named it - was "seated" in one of the spots, holding a flower in his paws.

"This was King Maric's idea," Rhianna explained. "He said the thing you would like best for your birthday was a tea party, so here we are!"

A tea party? At Maric's suggestion? Well, that explained the grin, anyway.

He bowed low before Rhianna. "Thank you, milady. I am honored you thought of me, and am very pleased to have been invited to such a lovely event."

"Come and sit down, and I'll pour the tea," she said.

"Not so fast!" Maric popped up out of his chair. "This is Loghain's birthday, after all. And it wouldn't be properly festive without fancy dress, would it?"

The king reached into a crate that he'd hidden behind one of the chairs. He pulled out a gown, crimson red, with a long flowing skirt and what would be a fitted bodice on an adult woman. Loghain hadn't seen that particular dress in years.

"Here, Rhianna. This belonged to Queen Rowan, and I think it will look lovely on you." Maric gestured that she should step close, as he bunched the dress up in his hands. She raised her arms, and he slipped it over her head, and a moment later, Maric tied up the laces at her back. The dress was far too long, and baggy everywhere, but the girl had a delighted smile that could have thawed the coldest winter snows.

"You look gorgeous!" Maric said approvingly. Then he pulled out a black velvet smoking jacket, of Rivaini design, and slipped it on. "And tell me the truth. Just how dashing do I look in this jacket?"

"Very dashing!" Rhianna exclaimed, clapping her hands.

Next, he pulled out a wide-brimmed hat, of purple felt with an extremely long white plumed feather sticking out the back. "This is for Ser Ruffalo," Maric declared, setting the hat far enough back on the bear's head so it didn't fall down and cover his face.

Once more Maric reached into the crate. This time, in his hands was a sort of robe … thing. Floor length, and made of peacock blue silk. Orlesian, no doubt. Possibly something that belonged to a courtesan, once upon a time, judging by the look of it.

"And, the best for last: this is for the birthday boy!" Maric didn't even try to hide the triumph in his smile.

Under no other circumstances would Loghain ever consider wearing such a garment, but one look at Rhianna's face - her eager smile, the light in her eyes - and he took the robe from Maric's hands, and slipped it on over his clothing.

"You look very festive, Teyrn Loghain," Rhianna said approvingly.

"Yes, Loghain," Maric agreed, obviously struggling not to laugh. " _Very_ festive."

Finally, they sat down to their tea. Rhianna was a perfect hostess, pouring the tea and serving the cakes, and making interesting small talk, something for which the child had an unusual knack.

Afterwards, Rhianna turned to him. "Happy birthday, Teyrn Loghain. I really do hope you're enjoying your party."

"I am," he said truthfully. It was even worth wearing the damned Orlesian robe to have an afternoon with two of his favorite people in all the world. "Thank you for arranging all this."

"Oh, I didn't arrange much of anything. As I said, this was King Maric's idea, and he made all the preparations. But I did want to do something special for you. Something that was completely my own idea. So, I came up with a game for us to play."

"A game?" Maric sounded genuinely surprised. Apparently, he knew nothing about this.

From under her chair, Rhianna pulled a small box, open at the top. It appeared to have several folded slips of parchment inside. "Yes, we're going to play a special game for Teyrn Loghain's birthday. It's a sort of guessing game. One of us will pull out a parchment, and then have to act out whatever is written on it. And then, the other three will each have one guess about what animal is being acted out."

"Oh, all right," Maric agreed, glancing at Loghain. Yes, clearly he knew nothing about this. "Wait, the other  _three_?"

"Of course. Don't forget about Ser Ruffalo."

"Oh! Of course. We mustn't forget about Ser Ruffalo."

Loghain expected her to offer him the box first, but instead, she pushed it in front of Maric. "Go ahead, Your Majesty."

"Me? But shouldn't Loghain go first? It is his birthday, after all."

"Oh, no," she said. "You're the king. That means you should always get to go first. Go on." She pushed the box closer. "Take one."

"All right." Maric stuck his hand in, and then read the writing.

"You'll have to get up out of your chair," she urged.

"Oh, of course." Maric stood, and moved to the clear area away from the table. "Okay, guess what I am."

He held his arms up in front of his body, his hands curved like little paws. Then he twitched his nose and began to hop, jumping with both feet off the ground at once.

A rabbit, or perhaps a hare. Loghain was about to say as much, but as Maric hopped around the room, Rhianna glanced over, and when she saw that she'd caught Loghain's gaze, she shook her head slightly, and winked.

Ah. She was up to something, wasn't she?

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I know! You're … you're a gopher, aren't you?"

"What? No. I'm not a gopher. Guess again." Maric continued to hop, but now he lifted his arms, and stuck four fingers up just behind his ears, and wiggled them around.

"I think I know," Loghain said. Rhianna glanced at him again, and he winked back. "A hedgehog. Those are your spikes, yes?"

Maric stopped hopping. "No. I'm not a hedgehog. Honestly. Have you ever seen a hedgehog hop? Guess again." He now began to hop with renewed energy, exaggerating all his actions.

"Oh! I think Ser Ruffalo knows!" Rhianna shouted. "He thinks you're a squirrel! Squirrels love to hop!"

"No!" Maric put his hands on his hips, and shook his head. "I'm not a squirrel."

"Oh, but that was our third guess." Rhianna sounded regretful. "We've lost this round. What animal were you?"

"I was a rabbit," he said, and his tone indicated he thought his companions were quite foolish not to have guessed.

"Oh, of course! Rabbits do love to hop, don't they?" Rhianna said. Maric started back to his seat, but before he sat down, she continued, "All right, choose another, then."

"What? Isn't it someone else's turn?"

"Of course not. You get to keep playing until we guess correctly. Those are the rules. You don't want to cheat at the game, do you?"

"Oh." His face fell. "Of course. The rules." He took a deep breath, and let it out again, then pulled out a new slip of paper. "All right. Let's try this again."

He stood in the center of the room, and put both of his arms out in front of him, and began to lumber back and forth. Then, he growled, a rumbling growl from deep in his chest. It was far from the best impression Loghain had ever seen, but if he had to guess (correctly, that is), he would have said Maric was pantomiming a bear.

"What is that?" Loghain asked. "A mountain lion?"

"No," Maric said. "Not a mountain lion."

"Of course it's not a mountain lion," Rhianna chided. "Just look at him. He's obviously a badger!"

"No, I'm not a badger, either!"

Now, Maric dropped to all fours, and started "walking" across the floor on his hands and knees, still growling, quite furiously now.

"I'm a bit stumped," Rhianna said. That was unlikely, considering she was the one who put the animal names in the box in the first place. Surely, she knew all the possible correct answers.

"Ah. What's that, Ser Ruffalo?" Loghain said. "You think the king is a mabari hound?"

"No!" Maric sounded exasperated as he slumped backwards into a seated position on he floor. "I'm a bear. A bear! Wasn't that obviously a bear?"

"Oh, Maker! Of course!" Rhianna sounded genuinely regretful. "You really were a very good bear. I suspect Loghain and I just aren't very good at guessing. Although Ser Ruffalo should have gotten it right, being a bear himself." She turned to the plush animal. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Ser," she chided.

She stood, and walked over to Maric, with the box in her hands. "Try again."

"Again?"

"It's the rules," she insisted.

He let out a pained sigh, but took another slip of paper. As Rhianna returned to her seat, he stood. "Okay, but this is the last one, whether you guess correctly or not."

He stood straight up, then bent at the knees, and put his hands beneath his armpits. Then, he began to strut across the floor, legs bent, lifting his knees high, while flapping his arms like wings. With each step, he stuck his neck out, and then pulled it back again quickly.

This time, Loghain wasn't sure how to guess. It was some sort of barnyard bird, obviously, but duck, goose, chicken - all of them seemed possible, and he didn't want to risk guessing correctly. Best to let Rhianna take the lead on this one.

"Ser Ruffalo thinks you're a duck!" Rhianna cried.

"No!" Maric shouted. "But you're getting closer! Guess again!"

"A swan," Loghain suggested.

"No, no, no! Guess again!" Now, Maric strutted around the room, pretending to peck at the furniture, shaking his head as he "dabbled" at one of the tapestries on the wall. It was one of the most ridiculous things Loghain had ever seen in his life, and he found it increasingly difficult not to laugh.

"I know, I know, I know!" Rhianna exclaimed. "You're a goose!"

"YES!" Maric jumped in the air, both hands in fists above his head. "Finally! You got one!"

"Well done!" Rhianna clapped her hands. "You make a very fine goose, Your Majesty."

"Thank you." He took an exaggerated bow. "Okay, who's next? How about you, Loghain?"

"Oh no," Rhianna interrupted. "That's the whole game."

Maric's brow furrowed. "What? What do you mean it's the whole game? We've only just started."

"I said I wanted to do something for Teyrn Loghain's birthday that he would enjoy. And you suggested a tea party." She tilted her head slightly to one side. "But I think you and I both know that a tea party, even a lovely one like this, is not really his favorite thing. Especially since you made him wear an Orlesian dressing gown."

"Oh." Maric had the good grace to look somewhat chagrined. "Perhaps you're right."

"So, I decided the tea party wasn't the real surprise. We'd use it as an excuse to get him here, and then I could give him something I knew he would genuinely enjoy." She turned to Loghain. "Was I right, Teyrn Loghain? Did you enjoy watching the king make a … goose of himself?"

She giggled, softly; never had he seen a happier, more mischievous, more self-satisfied smile in all his life.

"I did, indeed, enjoy it. Very much." He bit back his laughter. "Thank you, Rhianna. That maybe be the best birthday gift anyone has ever given me." he said, truthfully.

Loghain glanced at Maric. The king looked defeated, his brow furrowed and his mouth hanging slack. Understandable. The King of Ferelden had just been made the punchline of a rather elaborate joke. By an eight-year-old. And he'd never even seen it coming.

Rhianna giggled again, and then, finally, between her laughter and Maric's forlorn expression. Loghain was unable to keep his own mirth in check. He burst into laughter, which only made Rhianna laugh harder. Even Ser Ruffalo seemed to have an extra glint in his shiny black eyes.

Maric just stared, first at Rhianna, then at Loghain, and then back at Rhianna.

He glanced at the bear.

Then, one corner of his mouth twitched. Again. And again. A chuckle started, deep in his chest, and soon his shoulders were shaking with laughter, and he fell back onto his chair, tears streaming down his face.

"I suppose," he managed, between gasping breaths, "I deserved that. Happy birthday, Loghain."

"And you." He turned to Rhianna, stabbing in her direction with one finger. "I'll get you for this. When you least expect it."

She giggled again. "Oh, I have no doubt you will. But in the meantime, perhaps you'd like to choose another parchment?"

Once again, laughter filled the room.

It really was the best tea party ever.

‹›‹O›‹›

 


	4. You'll always know where to find me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhianna and Fergus camp near Highever; set when Rhianna is nine years old. Takes place between Chapters 12 and 13 of Book One.

_**15 Solace, 9:21 Dragon** _  
_**Near Highever** _

‹›‹O›‹›

  
"No, Elsie, not like that, not at an angle. It needs to be straight up and down. That's better . . . yes! Just like that. Now keep it steady . . ."

Nine-year-old Rhianna concentrated on Fergus' instructions, and held the tent pole as still as she possibly could, as he pounded stakes into the ground with a mallet. It took only a few minutes for them to erect their shelter for the night: a tent just big enough for the two of them.

The Cousland siblings had taken advantage of what might prove to be the last warm weather of the year before autumn set in, and were camping in one of Rhianna's favorite places in all the world. It was a clearing up in the hills a few hours away from Highever, with a small lake and a waterfall at one end. It was the perfect place to swim, although by the time they'd arrived that afternoon, the sun had started to set, and Rhianna didn't want to have wet hair once night fell. But Fergus had promised they would swim in the morning, before they returned to the castle.

After the tent was up, Rhianna started a fire, while Fergus skinned the rabbit he had caught for their dinner. Together they prepared the stew, flavored with rosemary and bay and mushrooms gathered in the nearby woods, and salt and red wine they'd brought with them from the castle. As the sun faded, painting the western sky an array of beautiful colors, they sat side by side, and ate, and laughed, and Fergus taught Rhianna a song about Lake Calenhad.

When the sun had set completely, stars began to appear one by one on the inky black background of the sky. The moon had waned to only the barest crescent, making the night exceptionally dark, and the stars seemed to shine all the brighter for it.

Fergus took Rhianna's hand, and led her to the middle of the clearing, where they laid down on their backs.

"Look at them all," Fergus said, as he looked up at the sky.

"I've never seen so many before," Rhianna replied. "They look so beautiful. All sparkly and bright."

"They can tell stories, you know."

Rhianna glanced at her brother. "What are you on about? Stars can't talk, so how can they tell stories?"

"There are pictures in the sky that tell stories, that's how."

"What sort of pictures?"

Fergus scooted close, so he was lying right beside Rhianna. He pointed toward the brightest light in the sky. "There, do you see that star?"

"Yes."

Then he pointed to a series of others that stretched to the west. "And those four?"

"Yes."

"They're part of Sigfost, the Great Bear."

"Are you sure? It doesn't look like a bear. It looks more like a soup ladle."

"That part does, but that's just his back and his tail. Look." He traced a pattern with his finger. "There are his legs, and his head."

"Hmnh." She tilted her head. "Still not a bear. Now it looks like a rowboat with legs."

Fergus chuckled. "Nonetheless, the Avvars, and our Alamarri ancestors before them, saw a bear."

"I suppose I can't blame them. Bears are much more interesting than soup ladles or rowboats. Is there a story about the bear?"

"There is. Sigfost is the guardian of wisdom, and it's said that if you can find where he lives, in the Frostback Mountains, anyone who can best him in combat can get the answer to any question they ask. It's also said that the clearing outside of his cave is strewn with the bones of people who tried to best him, and failed."

"I bet I could get him to answer a question without having to fight him, if I just asked nicely. Animals always like me."

"I'll bet you could, Elsie," Fergus agreed. "But there's more to the story than that. You see, Sigfost wasn't always so wise. Once upon a time, he was just regular bear, like any other."

"Then how did he come to be the guardian of wisdom?"

"Well, one day, when he was still very young, Sigfost was wandering in the forest, and he heard singing. He was captivated by the way the song trilled and spiraled downward, a haunting melody that echoed through the forest. It was the most beautiful song he'd ever heard, and he wanted to know who it was that sang so beautifully, so he began to follow the sound. But every time he thought he was getting close, the singing stopped, and then would start up again, farther away. He realized it must be a bird, and that it was scared every time he came near, and would fly away at his approach. But he needed to see it. The song was so gorgeous that surely, a bird who sang like that must be the most beautiful bird in all the the world. He imagined it had a long, thin neck and graceful legs, and glossy feathers that shimmered with every color of the rainbow, and majestic plumes atop it's head. His desire to see this amazing bird was so great that he snuck very, very quietly, determined not to scare it away again.

"Finally, he came to the edge of a clearing, with a meadow and a lake and a waterfall at the far end. The clearing appeared to be empty, but then, he heard the song, loud and true, from somewhere very close. His eyes searched the trees, desperate to see this marvelous creature, but he could not find it. There were no shimmering wings, no bright plumage to catch his eye. Then, at the very top of a tall hemlock tree, he spotted a bird. It was tiny - hardly bigger than a wren - and was plain brown, with a dusting of spots across it's pale breast. Sigfost was about to ask the bird if it knew who had made the beautiful song, when the bird opened its own mouth, and sang.

"For a moment, Sigfost could not believe his ears. For out of that bird's mouth came the song he had followed all day long. He was astonished - how could something so gorgeous come from the beak of a creature so small and drab?

"Curious, the bear came closer, moving slowly so as not to startle the tiny bird. When it stopped singing, he asked, 'Forgive me, friend, but how is it that you have such a beautiful song, when you are small and plain?'"

The bird flew down and sat on a branch near Sigfost's shoulder. She cocked her head, and stared at him for a moment, before she replied, 'This surprises you? Can small things not be beautiful? Is there not something of beauty hidden in even the plainest thing? The pattern on the back of a beetle? The whorl on a snail's shell. Have you never seen the way each leaf on a tree turns red and orange and gold, in its time? Sometimes the most beautiful things are those we don't notice right away, or that are slightly hidden from view, and force you to look more closely.'

"As he saw the truth in what the bird had said, Sigfost realized how foolish he had been. That all his life, he had been small-minded, and considered only what was easy to see, when true wisdom lay beneath the surface. And from that day on, he looked closer at everything he encountered, and this is how, in time, he became the guardian of all wisdom."

"What about the bird? Was it really a bird? I don't think it was."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, in stories like this, they're usually not regular animals. Even though animals are really smart, most people don't see them that way."

Fergus chuckled. "You're right, Elsie. The bird wasn't just a bird. It was really the Lady of the Skies." He pointed up at the stars again. "And there she is. You see? She was a veery in the story, but in the stars she takes the shape of swan." This was easier to see than the bear; Rhianna could imagine a bird's extended wings, and her long neck and shorter tail. "The Lady of the Skies," Fergus continued, "reigns over everything that isn't the earth. Over the sky and the clouds and the wind and the rain. And, of course, her domain includes all the birds and other things that fly."

"Do you know any others? Other patterns in the sky, I mean?"

"Let's see. Do you see that reddish star, and those three in a row just above? That's Nathramar, the great serpent. And those stars there, to the west of the Lady? That's Imhar, the Clever. He once defeated a demon by pretending to run away from her armies, and luring them into a mountain pass, where he laughed so loudly that it caused an avalanche that crushed the horde."

"That is clever, indeed." She paused. "Fergus? Can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can."

"Is this the last time we're ever going to go camping together?"

"What? Why would ask something like that?"

"Well, you're getting married soon. And when you have a wife, I expect she'll want all of your time. And when you have babies, they'll want your time, too." She bit her bottom lip. "It seems like you won't have any time left over for your silly little sister."

Fergus sat up, and pulled Rhianna up beside him. "Elsie." He held her gaze. "That is not going to happen. I promise." His eyes narrowed, slightly. "It's true, Oriana is going to want some of my time, and when she and I have children, they'll want some of it, too. But not all of it. Not ever. I will always have time for my silly little sister. I promise." He grinned. "So, no. This is definitely not the last time we'll go camping together."

Rhianna threw her arms around her brother, and pressed her cheek against his chest. "Good. I was scared, a little bit."

"You should have known better than that, Elsie. You're one of my favorite people in all the world. I'll always have time for you."

"Oh, Fussy." She hugged him tighter. "You're the best brother in all the world. I don't know what I would do without you."

"Lucky for you, you won't ever have to find out. Because you'll never have to do without me. I promise. I'll always be here for you. That's not going to change, even if I seem busy - with my new wife, or babies, or anything. If there's anything you need, ever, you come and ask. You'll always know where to find me." He took her chin in his hand, and turned her face up to his. "So no more worrying, all right?"

"All right." A broad smile spread across her face. "No more worrying." She paused. "Will you tell me more stories about the stars?"

He chuckled, and looked up. "Well . . . ah! Look there, all the way to the east. That's Rhiannon, in the shape of a horse. I can't believe I almost forgot to show you the goddess you were named after. Have you ever heard the story of how she met her husband?"

"No. Tell me!" Rhianna climbed into her brother's lap, and he wrapped his arms around her, and rested his chin on the top of her head.

"Well, Rhiannon had a white steed, which was said to be the fastest horse in all of the land . . ."

As Fergus' voice cascaded around her, she curled up against him, secure in the knowledge that, no matter what, her brother would always be there, whenever she needed him.

‹›‹O›‹›

 

_The bird in the story is a veery; you can[click here](http://www.youtube.com/v/cK1gaTqBRRk&rel=0;autoplay=1) for a video of this lovely bird and it's even lovelier song. (Video will autoplay)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written in response to a prompt given to me by Psyche Sinclair AGES ago (sorry it took me so long to finish). It just so happens, though, that this is a pretty good time to post it, considering what is happening right now in "Unshaken," and what the next few chapters will bring.


	5. I'd keep him close if I were you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was originally a chapter in Book One that I cut because it slowed the narrative. I think introducing it again here as a vignette is appropriate, as it gives a bit more detail on a character who we might see again sometime soon in the main story. (And by "might" I mean she actually sort of appeared in a recent chapter, and will appear again soon). ;)
> 
> This takes place between Chapters 44 and 45 of Book One.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for discussion of rape.

**_28 Firstfall, 9:27 Dragon  
_ ** **_Blytheswood Lane, Denerim_ **

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna and Fergus stood on the doorstep of a small but well-maintained house in what was undoubtedly the worst neighborhood in which either of them had ever set foot. Dane had led them here, following the scent of the woman who lived within, so Fergus had no doubt it was the right place.

Rhianna glanced up at him, as if asking for permission. He'd made it clear all along that he thought this was a mistake, but now that they were here, it seemed foolish not to go through with it. They'd find out soon enough whether or not this was truly a bad idea.

"I want you to come with me somewhere," she'd said to him earlier that day, right after breakfast. "Out in the city."

"All right. Where is it you want to go?"

"I want to find the woman. From two nights ago."

This was a surprise.

"You . . . know about that?"

"Yes. I saw her in Dane's mind, and asked Loghain who she was. He told me what happened."

Had he really? Maker's balls. "And just what exactly did he tell you?" Hopefully not all of it.

"That she was a prostitute Vaughan had hired. That he beat her and nearly killed her. And I know from Dane she looked enough like me to make me think that's why he chose her."

So Loghain  _had_  told her all of it.

Of course, Loghain and Rhianna had a relationship that was difficult for Fergus to fathom. It was obvious they were friends, close friends, in spite of the difference in their ages. This was especially surprising since Loghain wasn't known for being personable. Far from it; he had dark reputation, one that was well-deserved based on what Fergus had witnessed two nights before. The man was dangerous, and could be violent. Frightening, even.

Except when he was with Rhianna. In Rhianna's presence, there really was something different about the man. He seemed more relaxed, less gruff. He smiled. Laughed, even. He was gentle with Rhianna, even when he sometimes teased her about things that might have seemed cruel from someone else, and she always seemed to genuinely enjoy his jokes. Clearly, based on what had happened two nights ago, Loghain cared for her, more than Fergus had imagined.

And Rhianna adored him; that much had been obvious for years.

While Fergus wouldn't say he  _liked_ Loghain, exactly, seeing Rhianna and the teyrn together seemed . . . right, somehow. And it could hardly be a bad thing to have one of the most powerful men in Ferelden looking out for Rhianna's well-being.

At any rate, Loghain had been honest with Rhianna, and she had it in her head to seek this woman out.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Elsie."

"Why not?"

"She was pretty adamant last night that she didn't want any help from me or from Loghain. We offered to take her to a healer, give her money. Even just escort her home. She turned it all down, said she could take care of herself. I can't imagine she would welcome you just showing up on her doorstep."

"But this is different," Rhianna insisted. "I . . . just can't help feeling that she and I went through something . . . together, last night. That we're connected, in some way."

"Which would probably make you seeking her out even more intrusive. I'm not going to take you to find her Rhianna. I think it's a bad idea."

"Please, Fergus. I need to do this."

"Elsie. Why is this so important to you? She doesn't need your help, and I sincerely think she doesn't want it, either. So why do this?"

Rhianna ran a hand across her face. "I don't know. I can't help feeling that I owe her something. An apology at the very least." Fergus was about to say that none of this was her fault, that she shouldn't feel guilty, but she continued before he could speak. "And I know it's not my fault. Not really. Loghain made that very clear to me yesterday. I know I did the right thing in fighting Vaughan. But I still feel responsible for what happened to her. He went after her, he beat her and nearly killed her, all because he was mad at me. And he chose her because she  _looked_  like  _me_. How am I supposed to be all right with that? I just . . . I just want to see if there is anything I can do to make it up to her. If nothing else, ease her pain. We can bring poultices. If she won't take money, maybe she'll at least accept some healing. Please, Fussy. Please. I need to do this. For my sake, as much as hers." She paused. "If you won't take me, I'll just ask Loghain to do it."

"I doubt he'll agree."

Actually, it was unlikely Loghain would deny any request Rhianna made of him, but this hardly seemed the time to mention that.

"Then I'll go with just Dane. Is that what you want? Me searching all around the worst parts of Denerim by myself? It certainly isn't what I want. Especially after what Vaughan did, the idea of being out in the city alone terrifies me. But I'll do it, if that's what it takes."

In the end, the thought of his sister out on the streets by herself, with no one but Dane to protect her, was the incentive Fergus needed. Anyway, what was the worst that could happen? The woman would tell them to leave, and they'd come home and Rhianna could put this all behind her for once and for all.

Dane led them to a small street off of Blytheswood Lane. In daylight, the area appeared even worse than it had at night. Half of the buildings looked in danger of falling apart, and there was refuse lying in the streets. At least this time, none of the women standing in the shadows came out to proposition them. That, at least, was a blessing. Fergus' face felt hot when he remembered how a woman had suggested that he and Loghain were in the market for a boy. Or perhaps a partner for Dane.

The hound stopped at a house at the far end of the lane. Unlike many of the others, the place looked sound, and the front step had been swept free of dirt and debris. Flowers grew in a wooden planter to one side of the step, and a curtained window faced the street.

When Rhianna looked at him, a question in her eyes, he nodded.

She raised her hand. It hovered in the air as she took a deep breath, and rapped firmly on the door, five times in quick succession.

There was no response.

"Perhaps she's not at home." Fergus put a hand on his sister's shoulder. With any luck, they could just turn around and go home and Fergus could convince Rhianna that they'd tried, and make that the end of this.

"No, she's got to be home." Rhianna knocked again, slightly louder this time.

"I'm coming." A muffled voice sounded from inside the house. "I'm coming!"

The door opened, and they were greeted by the woman Fergus and Loghain had found in the alley two nights ago. She clutched a robe around her body, and her hair was unkempt, as though she'd just gotten out of bed. Her face looked far worse than it had that night. Her eye was swollen completely shut, surrounded by puffy skin that was bruised black. The cut on her lip didn't look much better.

She looked at Rhianna, her brow creased. "What's this? Who in world are . . ." As her gaze left Rhianna's face, and focused on Fergus, there was a spark of recognition. "You. You're one of the blokes in the alley the other night. How did you find me? And what in the name of the Black City are you doing here? You'd best not be here after some sort of 'reward' for helping me."

"No," Fergus said. "Of course not. We . . . well, it was Dane who found you today." Fergus gestured toward the hound. "And we've come . . . well, I think I'll let my sister explain that."

"Your sister?" The woman studied Rhianna's face. "You're the one he attacked before he came to me?"

"Yes," she replied.

"You don't look too beat up."

"I'm all right, mostly." Shrugging one of her shoulders, Rhianna slipped her gown partway down her arm. "Except for this." She had revealed a cluster of small, round bruises on her arm, and a large, dark bruise over her shoulder blade.

Fergus forced himself not to make a sound, as his stomach churned at the sight of bruises on his sister's body. Never for one moment had he doubted that she'd told the truth about being attacked, but seeing what Vaughan had done . . . actually seeing the marks where Vaughan's hands had grabbed her. That was almost unbearable.

As Rhianna slipped her gown back into place, the woman stepped back and gestured that they should come inside.

"So, you still haven't said why you've come."

"I know. I . . . I, um . . . I'm here to apologize. I know it wasn't really my fault, what Vaughan did to you. But the truth is that if he hadn't been angry with me, he wouldn't have come here looking for someone else. And you . . . well, you and I have the same color hair. I think that's why he chose you. So if I hadn't done what I did to him . . . he wouldn't have attacked you. And I'm sorry for what happened to you."

"What did you do to make him so angry, anyway?"

"He tried to force himself on me. And I kicked him to get away. Hard. Between his legs."

"Hah!" The woman let out a barking laugh, and tossed her head as though she were genuinely amused. "That explains the whiskey dick, then." She chuckled. "You must have one hell of a kick."

A corner of Rhianna's mouth turned up. "I suppose I do. I've been training to fight nearly half my life."

"Have you?" The woman looked Rhianna up and down, and she didn't need to say what she was thinking: why had the daughter of a nobleman trained for combat? "Thanks for the apology, although it really wasn't necessary. It truly is not your fault. But . . . it was good of you to come, anyway."

"I know the other night you told them you didn't need any help. But if there is anything you need, anything I can do, please let me."

"No, I meant what I said last night. I prefer to do for myself. I always have." She cocked her head and regarded Rhianna though one narrowed eye. "Besides, I didn't come away empty-handed." She crossed the room, and reached into a cabinet to retrieve a dagger, a rather ornate, expensive one at that. A dagger Fergus had seen before.

"That's the dagger Vaughan pulled on me," Fergus said, realizing too late he probably should have phrased it differently.

"Vaughan pulled a dagger on you?" Rhianna's eyes widened for a moment, and then her face settled into a look of consternation. "I didn't hear about that. Did he attack you? You might have been . . ." Rhianna stopped abruptly. She closed her eyes briefly, and shook her head. "I'm being stupid aren't I? You went after him for revenge. Of course he would try and defend himself, and of course you might have been hurt." Her eyes shone, as though she were close to tears, but she turned back to the woman, and put out her hand, as if asking to inspect the dagger. The woman offered it to her.

"This is a lovely weapon." Rhianna laughed, once, a scoffing sort of laugh. "Thankfully, Vaughan isn't skilled with it, considering my brother didn't end up stabbed. This will fetch a nice price, assuming you intend to sell it." Rhianna handed the weapon back.

"Yes," the woman confirmed. "I'll sell it. I've no desire to keep any sort of reminder of that man here in my house."

"Wait a minute," Fergus said. If she had the dagger, that meant . . . "You didn't go directly home that night. You followed us, didn't you?"

"Of course I did. Can you blame me? I wanted to see the bastard get what was coming to him. Which reminds me. Thank you. That was a satisfying kick you gave him on my account. Although it's possible that after you left, I might have given him one of my own." She turned to Rhianna. "Like you, I can kick pretty hard. I thought about doing other things to him, but I figure a nobleman like that, he'll have access to a healer. And I didn't want to give him enough reason to try and hunt me down again one of these days. He seemed the type to hold a grudge. I'm pretty sure he never realized it was me that kicked him and took the dagger, to be honest. He was pretty well out of it, laying on the ground smelling like piss." She turned to Dane. "That was a nice touch, love."

Dane huffed at the compliment.

Fergus glanced at Rhianna. Yesterday, when Leonas had ticked off the list of Vaughan's injuries, Rhianna had looked upset. Now, her face was pallid, but her expression looked calm. Determined, almost.

As if she had noticed her brother's scrutiny, she said, "Vaughan deserved everything that happened to him."

"That he did," the woman agreed.

"So, if you really don't want anything else," Rhianna began, as she reached into the bag she'd carried with her from home, "at least take these." She pulled out poultices, along with a ceramic pot of healing salve. "Please. They'll heal your eye, and your lip. And anywhere else you might be hurt."

The woman's eyes narrowed, and she looked from Rhianna to Fergus, and back to Rhianna. She shrugged, and reached out her hand. "All right. I will say the idea of this eye not throbbing anymore does sound appealing."

"Good. Well, I guess we'll go. Really, I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry you were hurt."

"Thanks. And I'm sorry you had to go through what he put you through. It's not easy being a woman in this world, is it?"

"No, sometimes it isn't." Rhianna extended her arm, and the two women shook hands. "My name is Rhianna Cousland, by the way. I'm the daughter of the Teyrn of Highever. So if you ever change your mind, if you decide there's some way I can help you after all, you'll be able to find me."

The woman's eyes widened slightly. "Daughter of a teyrn? Maker. He's a bold one, isn't he, thinking he could have gotten away with attacking you?"

"He seemed to think of it as some sort of courtship, intending to convince my father we should be married after he'd . . . well, you know."

"That's clearly not going to happen," she chuckled. "Your father . . . well, I saw what he did. I couldn't hear what was said, but it looked to me like it took all his restraint not to kill that bastard right there in the street. And I won't say I didn't enjoy seeing what he did do. I can't blame him, not after the man tried to rape his daughter."

"My father?" Rhianna sounded confused for a moment. "Oh! You mean Loghain. He's not my father."

"No?"

"No. He and I are friends, that's all. We have been since I was small. He's always looked after me, and he was the first one I told what had happened."

It wasn't surprising this woman might have assumed Loghain was their father, after the way he'd gone after Kendells without a second thought.

The woman studied Rhianna's face, and took a breath as though she were about to speak, but then she let it out again, with a slight smile, as though she'd changed her mind. "He's a good friend, that one. I'd keep him close if I were you."

"I intend to." Rhianna smiled, and her cheeks grew slightly pink.

Fergus felt a bit lost, as though he'd missed part of the conversation. As if something had passed unspoken between the two women.

"I'm Catrin, by the way. I should have introduced myself sooner."

"Catrin. That's a pretty name," Rhianna said. "And I'm glad to have met you, although I wish the circumstances had been better."

"Love, I can't imagine any other circumstances under which you and I might have met. We don't frequent the same circles. But I'm glad to have met you, as well."

Dane trotted up to Catrin and pushed his nose into her hand to say goodbye, and then the three companions took their leave.

"Was that what you'd hoped for?" Fergus asked, as they made their way out of Blytheswood district at a reasonably quick pace.

"Yes, I suppose it was. I still wish I could have done more for her, but the poultices will help. And it makes me happy to think she stole Vaughan's dagger. I hope she gets a lot of money for it. That bastard."

Fergus glanced at his sister. He couldn't remember her using that particular word before, or any foul language at all, really.

Then again, she wasn't a little girl anymore, was she? At fifteen, she was very nearly a woman.

He was glad they'd come. Even if they never saw Catrin again, it had been the right thing to do.

‹›‹O›‹›


	6. For once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a drabble that started out as a joke to torment a friend, but (Maker forgive me) somewhere along the line I realized that I actually liked the way it turned out. So, why not include it in the canon of Unshaken? Set between Chapters 67 and 68 of Book One. Not explicit, but somewhat NSFW.

_**3 Haring, 9:29 Dragon  
** _ _**Amaranthine City** _

‹›‹O›‹›

Rendon made his way upstairs through the silent estate. The servants were used to his presence; he was a regular visitor to Esmerelle’s home in Amaranthine. Tonight, his step was quick and firm. He had . . . frustrations he very much wished to work out. Those damned Couslands, and their miserable brat. They were taking her to Orlais where, no doubt, she would be lauded by that bitch of an empress.

  
He turned left at the top of the stairs, and continued to Esmerelle’s quarters. Without knocking, he pushed open the door and strode into the room. 

  
She was there, laying casually on the bed. Her hair was up, just a few soft tendrils left loose to frame her face, and she wore nothing but a pair of black thigh-high stockings - silk, no doubt - and lipstick that was as red as the blood of their enemies. 

 

”There you are.” Her frown was pinched and unhappy. “I’d begun to wonder if you were ever going to turn up.” 

 

"I apologize for the delay, milady. But I had correspondence that needed to be seen to, tonight." 

  
"Indeed?" Now, a slight smile played at the corners of her mouth. "In that case," she purred, "I suppose you can be forgiven. Close the door." 

  
He did as she asked, and undid the button at the top of his cloak. He laid it carefully across the back of a nearby chair, and then began to work at the laces of his shirt. 

  
"No." She raised her chin. It was remarkable how she managed to look down upon him, even while he stood, towering above her. "There’s no need for that. I have something else in mind. Come here, and get down on the floor." 

  
She shifted her position, until she sat, legs slightly spread, at the very edge of the bed. 

  
He got to his knees, stumbling slightly in his hurry to do as she commanded. “Yes, my love. I think you’ll appreciate the arrangement I’ve just made. I have ensured that we’ll have eyes on Cailan, and the Cousland brat, when they travel to Orlais later this month. One of Cailan’s guards-" 

  
"Enough!" She leaned back on her elbows, and her hips slid even closer toward him. "If I wanted to hear what you have to say, I’d have asked. There will be time for that later. Now," she reached one of her legs up, and hooked the back of his neck with her ankle. "Just shut up, and put that tongue of yours to good use. For once." 

  
A flush of heat burned throughout his body and made him ache with desire as, without another word, he eagerly complied.

‹›‹O›‹›


	7. When the night was at its darkest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A second perspective on the battle of Ostagar. This chapter takes place concurrently with Chapters 16 and 22 of Book Two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a content warning for this chapter; please see the End Notes if you would like to read the warning about potentially triggering content.

__**2 August, 9:30 Dragon  
** _**Southern Ferelden** _ __**  
**

‹›‹O›‹›

Smoke stung her nostrils and burned in her eyes. So much smoke, from the battlefield and the forest beyond. It hung like a blanket over everything. It obscured her vision, and caught in her lungs, and tickled at her throat.

The one thing it couldn't do was remove the stench from the air - the stench of some unbelievable number of darkspawn. They smelled foul individually, but this? With every breath it felt as though she pulled their oily taint directly into her lungs, and she struggled not to retch.

They'd been fighting for what seemed like hours and hours, and still the darkspawn came. An endless wall of darkspawn. They died easily under her spells, and under the swords and axes and arrows of the Wardens at her side. There were mages stationed on the ramparts above, and their spells rained down upon the horde, as well.

Even so, for every one that was killed, three more seemed to take its place. Would the creatures ever stop coming?

As if on cue, a trio of darkspawn - three genlocks - ambled out of the haze, their glittering eyes fixed on Solona. With a deep breath she murmured the words of a spell. White vapor puffed from her palms, and her magic flew through the air, pelting the genlocks with shards of ice. The three genlocks were stopped in their tracks, but before she could cast the fireball that would finish them off, someone - Daveth, perhaps - decapitated one of them with his blade. Arrows pierced the chest of another. With only one foe left standing, Solona drew in another breath and sent flames billowing toward it. The creature was engulfed in an orange-amber glow, and the sharp stink of burnt flesh and hair filled her nostrils. A brief shriek, and the genlock fell to the ground, dead.

"Solona!" Duncan shouted over the din of weapons and grunts and screams. "How are you doing?

"I'm fine," she lied.

Well, it wasn't really a lie. She  _was_  uninjured; her companions - including King Cailan, who fought just a few paces away - had done an admirable job of keeping the creatures away from her. But there was a limit to how much longer she could go on. Already, she'd tapped more deeply into her body's reserves than ever before. Soon - perhaps very soon - she would simply have no energy left for casting. Then, she would be useless – less than useless; a liability, even – if the Wardens continued to defend her even though she could no longer help them stop the horde.

What point would there be in admitting this, though? There was nothing to do but keep fighting, and that's what she would do until she dropped.

Duncan nodded, and his lips curved into a crooked smile. Maker, how handsome he was, even spattered with blood. A lock of hair had come undone from his queue, and she fought back the urge to push it back from his forehead, to take hold of his cuirass and pull him close for a kiss.

His eyes narrowed, and he glanced up, and behind her. Before she had turned to look, she realized something was different. Something was . . . wrong. Even with the sounds of battle raging around her, it was quieter than it had been just minutes before.

The ramparts above them were deserted. The Circle mages had left the field. And taken their spells with them.

Before she could consider the implications of this, she felt a  _tug_ , as though a hand had reached into her belly and pulled, hard.

Simultaneously, Duncan and Solona turned to the north, and her breath caught in her throat.

A creature, twice as tall as even the tallest man, strode toward them. The ground shook with each step of its enormous legs, and it swung arms as thick around as tree trunks. It had bluish skin, and two pairs of horns that swept back from its forehead, and when it opened its mouth to roar, pointed canine teeth as long as her finger gleamed white in the flickering light.

It was the most horrific thing she had ever seen. Worse than all the other darkspawn put together.

It swung its gigantic head left and then right, as if searching for something.

Its gaze fell upon King Cailan.

Before Solona could conjure a spell, the creature closed the distance in three powerful strides. The king struck out with his sword, but the thing batted away the attack. One more step, and the creature plucked the king from the ground as though he were no more than a doll. With a roar that sprayed flecks of spittle, it shook King Cailan, just once. The king's head snapped forward, and back, and lolled to one side. With a sweep of its arm, the creature tossed the king to the ground, where he lay still.

Maker's breath.

Arms raised in triumph, the creature threw back its head and roared, a sound that shook the ground and echoed off the nearby walls. Solona's hands flew to cover her ears as she turned and ran to the king's side. Falling to her knees, she cast her most powerful healing spell. Blue light streamed from the palms of her hands, and twisted and writhed as it cascaded downward. But, rather than penetrating the king's body, it slid across the surface of his armor, flowing like a waterfall to form a pool of light that shimmered faintly just above the ground.

"Damn it!"

She cast the spell again, but again the magic refused to seep into the king's body.

King Cailan was dead.

Another roar split the air behind her. She turned and watched, wide-eyed, as Duncan ran at the creature, and leapt through the air, farther than seemed humanly possible. He plunged his weapons into the creature's chest and used them to pull himself upward. He wrenched the dagger from the thing's flesh, and drove it in again, still higher, then did the same with his sword, until he was high enough to plunge a weapon into the creature's neck.

With one final cry of rage, it collapsed to the ground, dead, with Duncan on top of it.

Duncan didn't get to his feet right away. Instead, he grabbed at his side. Maker, was he wounded?

Solona pushed herself to her feet, and began to run toward him, but someone grabbed at her arm, and pulled her to a stop. She whirled around to find Carver looking down at her, his hand gripping her forearm. Josefina was at his side.

"Solona! Come on! Come with me, now!" He began to pull her away, toward the woods beyond the battlefield, but she struggled against him.

"I can't," she shouted. "Duncan is wounded! I have to go to him."

"There's no time." Again he pulled her away, and she tried to get free, but his grip on her arm was too tight.

"Carver is right," Jo insisted. "The battle is lost. We've got to get away from here now!"

Duncan had gotten to his feet, and staggered over to King Cailan. There, the Warden Commander dropped to his knees.

"Duncan!" Solona tried to shout over the din, but wasn't sure her voice would carry over the distance between them.

But Duncan looked up, and caught her eye. He looked exhausted, his mouth set in a grim line without even a hint of a smile. His gaze shifted, and he looked behind her, and up, and his mouth fell open.

She turned, and followed his gaze . . .

The beacon. The beacon at the top of the tower had been lit. Its flames leapt high and illuminated the night sky with a shower of sparks.

"The beacon," Solona gasped. "The signal for Loghain to charge!"

Rhianna had been sent to light the beacon; this must mean she was still alive!

Solona turned to her cousins. "We've got to keep fighting. Loghain will be here soon!"

"It's too late for that," Jo insisted. "Look at the field. Even if the teyrn can make a dent in the horde, he won't get to us before it's too late. We need to get out of here, now!"

Her cousin was right. The king was already dead along with a majority of his soldiers, the mages had retreated, and the field was filled with more darkspawn than anyone could have ever imagined. Even if Loghain charged now, what hope was there to defeat them all? If only she could get to Duncan, convince him to come along.

Again, Carver pulled at her arm.

"Not yet," she insisted, and once again turned toward Duncan. "Duncan!"

Duncan caught her gaze, and his expression softened with the hint of a smile, as he held one arm against his side.

The pounding of booted feet heralded the arrival of another wave of darskspawn. A hurlock, clad in shining armor that marked it as one of their lieutenants, rushed toward Duncan, axe held high.

"Duncan, look out," Solona shouted, even as she prepared to summon a spell meant to freeze the thing in its tracks.

Her warning was unnecessary. Duncan saw the hurlock coming, but instead of raising his weapon, he clutched harder at his side. He didn't even have the strength to put up any defense.

Frantic, she cast, but before her spell could cross the distance between them, the hurlock brought down his axe . . .

"NO!"

The blast of cold from Solona's fingers sent the creature staggering backwards, but it was too late to save Duncan.

"Solona!" Carver's voice was more urgent than before, and again he grabbed her arm and pulled at her. "We've got to go  _now!_  There's nothing you can do for him. Let's go!"

Once more, she tried to pull away, tried to run to Duncan, even though she knew there truly was nothing she could do. But she needed to touch him, to hold him just one last time.

A trio of genlocks appeared in front of her. Carver knocked one out of them out of the way, and then drove his sword through the neck of another. Blinking to clear her vision, Solona leapt to one side as the third one charged at her. She clenched her teeth, and muttered the words of another spell, but a wave of nausea hit her, rather than the usual pulse of magic, and the spell fizzled away from her fingertips.

She was done. There was no magic left inside of her to cast even one more spell.

Jo stepped between Solona and the genlock, and cut off its head.

Another tug at her arm. "Let's go!"

This time, she allowed Carver to lead her away, and they fought their way across the battlefield, headed for the woods beyond.

‹›‹O›‹›

They arrived in Lothering to find the town in utter chaos.

"They're telling us to evacuate," Bethany told them, when Solona and her two cousins arrived at the Hawke residence after making their way from Ostagar. The cousins sat around the table in the kitchen, while Leandra prepared something for them to eat. "The templars have said they can't defend the city if the darkspawn come north, so we should all pack up and leave," Bethany added.

"But Bann Ceorlic has men," Jo said. "Can't they defend us from the darkspawn?"

"The bann's men aren't in Lothering anymore," Bethany replied. "Teyrn Loghain came through here about a week ago, with what was left of his army. When he marched away for Denerim, Bann Ceorlic went with him, and took everyone but a handful of guards."

"Wait. Teyrn Loghain came through here with his army?" Carver arched a brow. "Why isn't he down at Ostagar, keeping the darkspawn from coming north in the first place?"

Bethany shrugged. "The teyrn never took the field at Ostagar. Apparently, there were too many darkspawn, so he retreated, in order that all of his men wouldn't be killed, and there'd be no one left to fight the darkspawn at all."

"What?" Carver turned to Solona. "I thought he was supposed to charge at Ostagar. Supposed to save us - to save the king - once the signal beacon was lit?"

"Yes, that was the plan," Solona agreed, "but something must have gone wrong. The beacon was lit, but only after King Cailan was already dead. There isn't anything Teyrn Loghain could have done to save him. Or us. You know that as well as I do. Like Bethany said, there must have been too many darkspawn, and he had to retreat." She turned to Bethany. "You haven't seen any of the other Grey Wardens, have you? Rhianna, I mean. She must have survived long enough to light that beacon, but I've no idea what might have happened to her after that. I had hoped perhaps she would turn up here, too."

"There  _were_  two Grey Wardens who survived," Bethany replied. "They came through Lothering a few days ago. I didn't see them, but from what I heard, one of them did match Rhianna's description. Apparently, they were involved in some sort of an altercation over at the tavern, and left town in a hurry after that."

"Then Rhianna might be alive!" This was the best news Solona had heard in what seemed like forever. "And what about the other one? Was he perhaps a wiry man with dark hair?" Solona had lost sight of Daveth just before King Cailan was killed. It would be wonderful to learn he was alive, as well.

"I don't know. But I think they said he was tall, with blond hair?"

"Oh." Blond? "That sounds like Alistair." That would make sense; he and Rhianna had been sent to light the beacon together.

"Either way," Bethany continued, "I think we should listen to the templars. Leave now, before it's too late."

"And I'm not convinced that will be necessary." Leandra leaned over to place a bowl of dumplings on the table. "I'm not ready to abandon our home yet, Bethy."

Jo reached for the food, a slight frown on her face. "We can't stay here, Mother. We just can't. Not if there isn't anyone to defend the town. There are thousands of darkspawn. Thousands upon thousands, and with no one left at Ostagar, there's nothing to stop them from coming north. From coming here and destroying everything. We can't possibly stay."

Leandra put a hand on her hip. "And just where do you suggest we go?"

"Kirkwall," Bethany said with no hesitation. "To Uncle Gamlen. He still lives in your family home, doesn't he? There would be plenty of room, and surely he'll be more than happy to have us. We're family, after all."

"Yes, I suppose we could go to Gamlen. If it comes to that." Something in her voice suggested that Leandra knew very well it  _would_  come to that; she just wasn't ready to admit it yet.

"I do think the rest of you should go," Solona said. "Somewhere you'll be safe from the darkspawn. But I need to stay here. In Ferelden, I mean."

Carver turned to her, eyes wide. "What? Why? Why on earth would you stay?"

"I'm a Grey Warden. It's my duty to fight the darkspawn. Maker knows I'll be needed."

"Oh, that's right. You don't know." Bethany bit her bottom lip.

"Know what?"

"What they're saying about the Grey Wardens. They're saying . . . well . . . " Bethany's voice trailed off.

Solona leaned forward. "Tell me."

"It's just . . . I know it's not true, But people are saying the Wardens might've had something to do with King Cailan's death. That they might have deliberately killed him."

"What?" Solona could hardly believe her ears. "Who in the world is saying this?"

"Teyrn Loghain, for one. He even left behind a few of his soldiers, to try and capture any Grey Wardens that might have survived the battle. That was the 'altercation' I mentioned in the tavern. He's said the Wardens are traitors to the crown, and are no longer welcome in Ferelden."

Maker.

"If I were you," Bethany added, "I'd keep quiet about being a Grey Warden. I don't think any of Loghain's soldiers are still here in town, but other people might give you trouble. A lot of people seem to believe the Wardens did kill the king."

"The Grey Wardens had nothing to do with King Cailan's death! I saw it happen. It was this . . . creature. One of the darkspawn, only huge and even more horrible than the others. How can anyone believe the Wardens killed the king?"

"I don't know," Leandra said. "Perhaps the teyrn believes it. Or, he could be playing some political game." She placed a plate of sliced beef on the table, and sat down beside Solona. "Either way, people listen to what he has to say, so I do think it wise for you to keep quiet about being a Warden, for now. It's no one else's business, anyway." She put a hand on her niece's arm. "And there will be no more talk of you staying here after we leave. If we are forced to leave Lothering, you are coming with us. You're family, and I will not take no for an answer."

"But what about the darkspawn?"

"If Teyrn Loghain says he doesn't need the help of the Grey Wardens, then he can deal with the darkspawn on his own. Either way, you're coming with us. Do I make myself clear?"

"I . . ." She paused. "Yes. I understand."

"And I understand that you do feel some duty to the Grey Wardens," Leandra added. "That's natural, of course. They helped you get away from the Circle. So, perhaps you can get in touch with your sister. After all, she is a Warden in Orlais."

"My sister is a Grey Warden?"

"Yes, of course . . ." Leandra's voice trailed off. "Oh. I don't suppose you've been in contact with her recently, have you?"

"No." Solona hadn't thought about Arais in . . . ages. Hadn't heard her name, or spoken it, in years and years. Most of the time, Solona just pretended she never had a sister. Arais was five years older, and had been taken away to the Circle when Solona was tiny. To be honest, Solona barely remembered her. Mostly, what she remembered was her mother crying, after huge men in blindingly bright plate armor had dragged Arais away.

"I didn't know Arais joined the Grey Wardens," Solona murmured. "You've . . . heard from her?"

"Yes. I get a letter from her every so often. Perhaps once a year. About three years ago, she told me that she'd joined the Grey Wardens. It was a way of getting out of the Circle, and she seemed to like it well enough." Leandra paused. "We can write to her. I'll do it, if you like. Tell her what's happened. It's up to you, darling. If you'd rather not get in touch with her, I'll understand. But either way, I will not allow you to stay in Ferelden on your own, Grey Warden or not."

"All right. We can write to her, I suppose." She let out a breath. "And, yes. I'll come with you. To Kirkwall."

Was this the right thing to do? It was difficult to know. Solona did have a duty to the Grey Wardens, but Duncan and the others were dead, and Solona had no way of knowing where Rhianna might be now. What could Solona do on her own against the darkspawn? She didn't have the first idea how to try and stop the Blight. Especially if Teyrn Loghain really did believe the Wardens had something to do with Calian's death. She couldn't fight darkspawn at all if she were locked away in prison.

So, she'd do what her aunt demanded, and stay with her family. It's not as though that would be a hardship. To stay with her family, for the first time in a great many years.

‹›‹O›‹›

It was only after everyone had gone to bed, when the night was at its darkest, that she allowed herself to thinking about Duncan. Solona lay in the bed she shared with Bethany, listening to the soft whisper of her cousin's breath, and allowed her mind to drift back to those few beautiful weeks she and Duncan had shared together.

How, after they left Lothering, the two of them had sat up talking every night, while Rhianna slept. They'd talked about everything, and nothing. About Duncan's childhood, what little of it he remembered. His life as a Grey Warden, and the things he loved about it, and some of the things he hated. About her life in the tower - at least those details she was willing to share. He never pressed her to say the things she left unsaid, but she sensed that somehow, he knew. Knew that there were horrors she didn't want to speak of out loud, and he understood. There had been something in his eyes then, something gentle. Almost pity, but not quite.

That had made her happy. She didn't want his pity. What she'd wanted was his love.

Then, the night before they'd arrived at Ostagar, she'd worked up the courage to rest her hand atop his. She'd been unsure how he would respond. Their conversations had been friendly. Warm, even, but he never made any move to touch her, or kiss her. Would he welcome this advance, or push her away?

She needn't have worried. He'd taken her hand, and twined his fingers between hers, and for a while they'd sat together like that, and Solona had felt warm and happy, and safer than she'd ever felt before.

After a while - the time it took her to work up more courage - she'd spoken.

"You . . . you know, it would be all right with me if you kissed me." She stared into the embers of the dying campfire. "If that's what you want to do."

His fingers had tightened around hers. "That is very much what I want to do . . ." His voice had trailed off.

"But?"

"But I can't. Not now. It's . . . it's not the right thing for us to do. Not now."

"Not the right thing?" She'd turned toward him, and studied his face. "But why not? It's what we both want. Or . . . is there some rule against it? Some rule against Grey Wardens being . . . together like that?"

"No, that's not it. There  _are_  certain rules. Wardens are not allowed to marry without first getting permission from someone higher up in the chain of command. But other than that, the order mostly tries to stay out of our personal lives."

"Then what?"

He let out a slow breath. "You're a recruit, and I am your commander. I . . . well, I think by now you've realized that the Joining ritual is no . . . insignificant thing. And it is my duty to administer the ritual to you." He paused. "I fear . . ."

"You fear what? That if you and I are . . . together like this, you'll have trouble fulfilling that duty?"

"Something like that, yes."

"What about after the ritual?"

"If things go as I hope, then yes, after the ritual there would be nothing to stand our way."

"I understand. And I don't mind waiting."

He'd squeezed down on her fingers, and she'd moved closer, to rest her head against his shoulder.

Only she hadn't understood, not really. Not on that night. It was only after the Joining that she truly understood Duncan's reluctance. He had known how the ritual might end. Known that he would be the one to hand her a chalice filled with something that might kill her. That, she guessed, was the part he found difficult to bear, and it would have only been more difficult for him if they'd given in to their desires.

But the ritual hadn't killed her. She'd survived, and that night, when the others had gone to the King's Camp, she went to Duncan's tent. There, he was waiting for her, as she'd known he would be.

" _Ya amar,"_ he had called her. He said it was Rivaini, and meant "beautiful as the moon."

He had pulled her into his arms then, and kissed her, and nothing had ever felt like that before. To be with someone she wanted. Someone she had chosen for herself . . .

A sob caught in Solona's throat. Beside her, Bethany stirred in her sleep, and moved closer to drape an arm across Solona's shoulder.

She knew she should be grateful. For her life, and for her family, and for the time she'd had with Duncan, short though it may have been. And she  _was_  grateful, she truly was.

But that didn't stop her from missing him. Especially now, when the night was at its darkest.

‹›‹O›‹›

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: This chapter contains implied mentions of rape (very vague mentions, but I thought I'd include a warning, just in case).


End file.
